Nyx walked down the familiar, carpeted second-floor corridor, her shoes sinking softly into the plush floor runner. Lucian followed closely behind her, his small hands resting loosely near his pockets.
Stopping outside his bedroom door, Nyx turned around. The room was spacious, but like the rest of the mansion, it felt cold and sterile—more like a boutique hotel room than a fourteen-year-old’s space.
"Go inside and rest for a bit," Nyx said, her voice softening noticeably from the icy edge she had used downstairs. "I’m going to my room to clean up and change out of these clothes. When I’m done, I’ll come back over, and we can go through everything I bought together."
Lucian looked up at her, his dark eyes searching her face before he gave a firm nod. "Okay."
Nyx reached out with her good hand and gently brushed her fingers through his dark hair, ruffling it with familiar affection. Lucian didn’t pull away; he simply stood there, letting her mess up his hair. Then he gave her a small smile before stepping back into his room and closing the door.
A few doors down the hall, Nyx entered her own bedroom.
The moment she stepped inside, she shut the door behind her.
Nyx stood there for several seconds, her back resting lightly against the closed door.
Only then did she breathe out.
She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been downstairs until now.
Her shoulders gradually relaxed as she looked around her bedroom. The familiar space should have felt comforting, but it still carried an odd sense of unreality. In the apocalypse, closing a door did not necessarily mean you were safe, and the slightest unfamiliar sound could mean someone—or something—was coming for you.
Nyx pushed away from the door.
"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath.
She had too much to do.
She headed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She washed with cold water, scrubbing away the faint grime of the hospital and the lingering, suffocating atmosphere of the Arden dining room.
When she finished, she moved to her wardrobe to pick out clean clothes. She started changing, keeping her injured arm in mind.
Or at least, she tried to.
Unfortunately, Nyx had a habit of forgetting about it.
Reaching up to unbutton her shirt, she accidentally applied leverage to her left shoulder. A sharp, hot jolt of pain shot straight down her forearm, radiating outward from the fracture.
Nyx hissed through her teeth, her body instinctively freezing as her cast caught on the sleeve.
Dammit.
She carefully adjusted her movements and continued dressing, only to forget again a few minutes later when she tried to pull something into place.
Another sharp jolt of pain reminded her.
Nyx stared at her arm with deep irritation.
Her brain kept forgetting that her current physical body was fragile, unconditioned, and bound by a rigid plaster cast. The constant, nagging ache was deeply annoying.
"I know you’re broken," she muttered. "You don’t need to keep reminding me."
The arm, unsurprisingly, offered no response.
Moving more deliberately, she carefully maneuvered an oversized white T-shirt over her sling and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
She finished dressing and checked herself briefly in the mirror. Once satisfied, she picked up the shopping bags and headed toward the door.
Her hand was already reaching for the handle when she stopped.
The inheritance.
Right. She had almost forgotten about it.
The memory had been buried beneath three years of survival, and even now, it remained strangely fragmented. She remembered that after she turned eighteen, someone contacted her about her mother leaving an inheritance for her. She remembered documents, a phone call, and being told that certain conditions had to be fulfilled before she could gain access to what had been left for her.
But the details were hazy.
Nyx stood still for a moment, searching her memory.
There was a man. A legal representative her mother had trusted before her death.
Nyx picked up her phone from the nightstand and opened her contacts. She scrolled past names she hadn’t looked at in years, searching through the archived numbers until she found the one she needed.
Jacob Fint.
She tapped the number and raised the phone to her ear.
The call rang three times before a man answered.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Fint? This is Nyx Arden."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Nyx Arden?" His voice warmed with recognition. "My apologies. I didn’t recognize your number. It’s been a long time. How have you been?"
"I’ve been fine. I know it’s been years since we last spoke."
"That’s good to hear."
Nyx crossed to the window, looking out over the mansion’s manicured garden. "I’ll get straight to the point. I’m calling about my mother’s inheritance."
Jacob fell quiet for a moment.
"Is something wrong?"
"There’s nothing wrong, Nyx. In fact, I was planning to contact you in a month’s time."
She glanced at the calendar on her desk.
A month.
By then, the world would already be falling apart.
"What were you planning to contact me about?"
"The conditions attached to your mother’s trust have been fulfilled. I intended to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the transfer."
Nyx turned from the window.
"Trust? I thought my mother had left me an inheritance."
"She did, in a manner of speaking. But it wasn’t a conventional inheritance. Your mother established an irrevocable trust to protect the assets and ensure you would eventually have full control over them."
The word stirred a faint memory of a lawyer’s office, a stack of documents, and her mother’s name printed across the pages. Nyx remembered being told that certain conditions had to be met before she could claim what had been left to her, but the details had long since faded.
"You were eighteen when the arrangement was explained to you," Jacob said. "It’s understandable that you don’t remember everything. Your mother required you to turn twenty-four, complete your university degree, and maintain two years of continuous professional employment before you could take full control of the trust."
Nyx did the calculation automatically. She had fulfilled all three conditions months ago.
"Then why hasn’t anyone contacted me?"
"The trust gave us some flexibility in arranging the formal transfer. Since you would turn twenty-four this year, I planned to contact you closer to your birthday."
She almost laughed. In another month, there might not be a functioning world left in which to celebrate it.
"How much did my mother leave?"
"I’d need to review the latest valuations before giving you an accurate figure. What I can tell you is that the trust holds several investment accounts and a property that has been maintained on your mother’s behalf."
Nyx straightened.
"A property?"
"Yes. It remains under the trust’s management."
"Where is it?"
"It’s outside the city. I’d prefer to provide the exact details once we’ve verified your identity and gone through the relevant documents."
"Fine. Then let’s meet as soon as possible." She moved to her desk and rested a hand against its edge. "I want copies of everything—the trust agreement, financial statements, investment records, property documents, and any letters or instructions my mother left behind."
"Of course. I’ll arrange for the documents to be available."
Nyx looked at the calendar again. Until a few minutes ago, she’d assumed she would have to find a suitable location, secure it, and build everything she needed from the ground up. Now there was a chance that her mother had already given her a head start.
"One more thing. Was the property purchased before my mother died?"
"Yes."
"What kind of property is it?"
"Whitehill Crest. It’s a private residential estate on five acres of hillside land outside the city. The villa sits against a limestone bluff, with thick masonry walls around the grounds and a subterranean level beneath the main residence."
Nyx’s fingers tightened around the phone.
Five acres. Perimeter walls. A subterranean level.
It wasn’t a fortress, but it sounded like a far better starting point than anything she could reasonably acquire and prepare in thirty days.
"Has it been maintained all this time?"
"Yes. The trust has continued to cover its upkeep. Security and groundskeeping are handled by separate teams, and the property has remained in good condition."
For the first time since waking up in the hospital, Nyx felt a genuine surge of excitement. An estate outside the city, already maintained and surrounded by substantial walls, could save her weeks of work.
"Send me a summary of the property and the details for our meeting," she said, making an effort to keep her voice even. "I’ll review everything before we meet."
Jacob chuckled softly. "You sound more like your mother every time I speak to you. Very well. I’ll email the summary within two hours, and we can arrange the transfer paperwork when we meet."
"Thank you, Jacob."
His response was an unexpected burst of hearty laughter.
Nyx smiled despite herself. "What?"
"Nothing. It’s just good to hear from you again."
The warmth in his voice caught her off guard. For a moment, she was reminded that these weren’t merely the people responsible for managing her mother’s money. They had known Althea.
"I’m glad I called," Nyx said before ending the conversation.
She returned the phone to the nightstand and let out a slow breath. Picking up her shopping bag with her good hand, Nyx left the room and headed down the hallway toward Lucian’s.